


Blood for Blood

by haku23



Category: Dark Wolverine (Comics), Fantastic Four (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-22 06:09:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6068089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haku23/pseuds/haku23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnny gets hurt during a fight and attempted vengeance comes from an unexpected source. Set post-Wolverines, pre-Secret War world destroying banaza and kind of diverges a lot from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And by unexpected I mean Daken. Obviously. It's a Johnny/Daken fic who the heck else would it be? Also the timeline of comics was/is all buggered up so when exactly does this take place? We just don't know, just try not to think too hard about it, ok. 
> 
> As usual this fic is Daken related so this isn't gonna be a super healthy relationship or anything so proceed with caution etc.

The last person he expects to see in his hospital room shows up the second day-or maybe third, they all blend together-of his drug-induced stupor. His eyelids sluggishly blink, like the person at his bedside will just up and disappear if he just keeps on doing it. But then, disappearing and Daken haven’t exactly been strangers to one another. Not like he’s been a stranger to Johnny.

 

“Huh?” he asks instead of “what the hell are you doing here?” or any of the variations that also include “how the hell did you get in here?” Daken laughs and steps closer, the blurred edges of him getting more in focus.

 

“Hello Johnny.”

 

“Huh? You-…got only one arm.”

 

His face goes blank, “thank you for noticing. You look terrible.”

 

“Jerk.”

 

“I thought we were stating facts. You do. Who did it?”

 

Slow as his brain may be right now he keeps back the information and just shakes his head, “I-how’d you get up here? Thought you were dead.”

 

“I was. I got better; then worse.”

 

“What’s…you…ugh.”

 

He leans closer and Johnny notices he hasn’t got an eye on the right side either. Tries not to stare. Fails. Daken glares-less intimidating with only one eye but probably more because everything starts softening around the edges again-and pushes the hair back from Johnny’s face. “Look at me.”

 

“I’m looking.”

 

“No,” his hand grabs his hair and yanks, “no. Look at me.”

 

“What the fuck, dude. Ok. What?”

 

“Who did this to you?”

 

He becomes very interested in the dancing fairy behind Daken’s left shoulder. Kinda hot and she isn’t wearing a shirt. “I dunno.”

 

“Liar.”

 

“Uh huh?”

 

He doesn’t notice when he falls back asleep, just that the next second the room has darkened and Daken has gone. The next time he wakes up Sue comes in, tablet in hand, but she abandons it once she sees him awake.

 

“How are you feeling?” she brings him a glass of water from the cooler on the opposite wall and he has to consciously try not to choke he drinks it so quickly.

 

“Better.”

 

He sees her let out a breath and laughs-still kinda hurts to laugh but she needs to hear it, “c’mon, sis, I’ve had worse, right? Couple more days and you’re gonna wish I was still passed out.”

 

She doesn’t say anything in response to that but he sees her smile, “Peter came by earlier. I told him I’d call him when you were awake.”

 

“Ugh, Pete? Who wants to see him? Next thing you’re gonna tell me Ben’s gonna bunk in here next to me.”

 

“Well actually…”

 

“You guys worry too much, seriously. I’m fine, like…80% fine,” he adds a zero to the number and tries not to wince when he breathes.

 

Sue sits on the edge of the bed and he can tell she has a whole speech prepared that he interrupts with asking, “hey, I think it was the drugs but…Was…Daken here last night?”

 

“Daken? I can check the cameras if you want, but we didn’t have any recorded security breaches last night and…”

 

“I know, sis, seriously, it was probably just the drugs. I saw a topless fairy as the same time so it was probably just,” he shakes his head. Not exactly wishful thinking. He and Daken hadn’t exactly parted on the best terms, and even if they had the guy doesn’t have many good bones in his body. Or at least no more than the one Johnny has seen.

 

“I’ll check the cameras.”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

 

~~**~~

 

Clearly whatever Reed gave him hadn’t shared any properties with truth serum because Johnny lied. Women stink when they lie, like burning tires, but men do too. It feels almost nostalgic to look up from his apartment and see the Baxter building so close; the difference being this time he has no tail in Lester. He may as well not exist, Schroedinger’s one eyed cat pacing its cramped accommodations, occupying purgatory. At least people still wonder about the cat. Daken has no such illusions about himself.

He looks over the ledge of his narrow balcony-if he jumped he might die but he doesn’t know for sure and can’t take the chance of botching it. Not like before when every attempt came with a do-over.

 

The sun barely begins lightening the bottom of the skyscrapers and so no one exists to look up at him. He casts a glance over to the Baxter building again and thinks better of it. Johnny won’t have gotten his meds yet, and soon they will begin weaning him off. He will miss his window, miss his chance at everything but then he does excel at that.

 

He turns his back on the outdoors and heads back inside to the couch and laptop he has set up in the otherwise cavernously empty space. It takes a moment for the computer to boot up and then he begins combing through headlines; surely at least one of them has to have some sort of information about who the Fantastic Four fought in the past couple of days.

 

~~**~~

 

“Hello Johnny,” Daken’s voice pushes its way through his closed eyelids and has him starting in his bed no matter how much pain it causes him.

 

“You’re not-you’re drugs.”

 

He hums and wow, his brain must have really indexed all of his little tics for it to make such an accurate hallucination, “do you often hallucinate about people who gave you orgasms or am I just _special_?”

 

“Gave me _one_ that’s not plural.”

 

“I could give you more.”

 

“Ughhhh come on, really?” he looks at him, his brain clicking over to notice something else, “when’d you get those sideburns? Ew, does that mean I want Wolverine? No offence, I know he’s…”

 

“None taken. Who did this to you?”

 

This whole thing has seriously entered the realm of not even cool. Why would Daken want to know that? What does he even care? Why is his stupid, drugged up brain trying to make him into some kind of hero?

 

“I don’t remember. Look, why’re you here?”

 

“Maybe I just missed seeing your face,” he leans in close-his breath smells like spearmint and heat that his body-drugged or not- responds to immediately.

 

He worries his split lip between his teeth, “look…”

 

“I’m not a hallucination, Johnny,” his lips brush his ear, gentle like he never was when they screwed around once or twice. Then it had been all heat, all yanking off shirts and pants and he has a scar on his shoulder that probably matches Daken’s teeth.

 

“Then what the hell are you doing here? I thought we were too good for you to hang around with-but I guess since all your other jerk friends are in jail you gotta come to me, right?”

 

“You’ll hurt yourself if you don’t calm down.”

 

“No, _you_ hurt me, Daken.

 

“I’m sure that it didn’t take you long to get over the loss,” he sounds bitter and jealous and he should stop himself from being surprised and letting it show on his face but he has never been great at that in particular.

 

“You tried to kill me.”

 

“When?”

 

His head feels like it will split open-sure, Daken hadn’t ever really tried to hurt him, not really seriously, but that feels like a slippery slope and not one Johnny wants to start sliding down.

 

“If stuff blowing up’d killed me how long would you’ve cared? You only think about yourself, Daken, you don’t get to be jealous.”

 

“Who hurt you?”

 

He turns his face away and closes his eyes. Just a hallucination, why would Daken come visit him? Why would he care? Why would he be jealous? Johnny squeezes his eyes shut tighter and when he opens them Daken has gone.

 

~~**~~

 

The story breaks the next day, early enough that Johnny still hasn’t pulled himself out of his drug induced stupor but Sue manages to wake him anyway.

 

“I need you to look at this.”

 

“Bwhut?”

 

Pete forgot his waterbottle beside the bed the other day and Johnny thinks nothing of stealing it for himself to fight off the dryness in his mouth. He takes the tablet Sue holds out with his other hand and reads it a couple of times until it finally sinks in.

 

“Who? Wait. What?”

 

“They don’t know yet.”

 

Not Doom-hadn’t been Doom they fought anyway-but he recognizes a couple of faces. People who the Four have fought in the last few weeks. “Who is the killer avenger?” the paper asks, in typical over-dramatic fashion. He scans the article quickly to get the gist. The person doesn’t necessarily kill but they swept the city overnight and the reporter in charge has gleefully plastered photos of the same people from the mugshots beaten to a bloody pulp.

 

“We’ve already reached out to Frank. He’s not taking responsibility for it.”

 

“They’re not his style anyway, are they?” The Punisher goes after screw-ups but none of these people will have pinged on his radar yet, and none of them have any crimes that warrant the level of brutality this new kid on the block has brought, and besides, The Punisher would have _killed_ them.

 

“No. We traced his phone-he’s in South America. This is someone else.”

 

“Have the X-Men…uh…either of them; said anything?”

 

“They’ve already gone on record denying involvement.”

 

Not surprising. Even if they did have something to do with it they would deal with it internally and he doubts that Storm’s kids have anything to do with this. Sabretooth has been off the radar for months and anyway, Logan’s dead so he doesn’t have much of a reason to wander into the city.

 

“What about Matt?”

 

“He’s not picking up the phone but…”

 

Yeah, not exactly Daredevil’s MO either. Not exactly anyone’s-not since Osborne and well, he doesn’t exactly go after villains. “So it’s gotta be someone new, right?”

 

“Not…Exactly.”

 

He knows, even as much as his head has begun to hurt again, what she will say before she says it.

 

“These photos were provided by a freelance photographer.”

 

“That’s not Laura,” it sounds weird. Like he’s the last person to figure out what everyone else has known all along.

 

Sue takes the tablet from him and hands him the photos, “No.”

 

The hair differs, and he only has one arm but the posture and the claws…the person in the pictures can only be Daken. His breath catches in his throat like he just hit the ground after a long fall but he doesn’t let himself look freaked out. Sue will know anyway, but he puts up the act anyway. One day only the Great Johnny Storm in his one man production of Totally Fine.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“Why wouldn’t I be? It doesn’t matter what happened before-he can’t just run around beating people up like that.”

 

Beating people up for _him_. He puts the pieces of the puzzle together easily now but it doesn’t make it any less messed up.

 

“You need to rest. We’ll take care of it.”

 

“He was in here last night. He asked me…”

 

“This isn’t your fault, Johnny, you didn’t ask him to do any of this.”

 

If he just told him he might have limited the destruction, though. If he just forced them to look harder, to really make sure he hadn’t been hallucinating this might not have happened. “I don’t get it.”

 

“He isn’t…On our side. Even if he’s going after villains we have to assume his intentions aren’t good.”

 

“You don’t have to tell me that. I was the one who let him in last time-I was the one who got all of those people,” he clenches his fist-the one without the IV and pictures-and shakes his head, “I don’t get it.”

 

“Did he say anything to you? Maybe gave a hint to where he might be hiding out?”

 

“ _No_. He was here maybe five minutes. I don’t know. I kept…passing out from the drugs,” he tosses the photos onto the bed.

 

“He must have hacked the cameras somehow; he isn’t on any of the footage,” Sue pats his leg, sympathetic despite him messing up. It would be nice not to see that expression for awhile.

 

“How’re we gonna find him?”

 

“We’ll put out a bulletin to the others, let them know to keep an eye out. I’ll see if I can get Laura on the phone,” she gets up, the time for patting him on the head abruptly over, and heads for the door.

 

“Sis.”

 

“I don’t know what we’ll do when we find him,” she replies before he can ask but doesn’t give him time to respond before walking away. He doesn’t have anything prepared anyway.

 

Ben flopping down in the chair beside the bed ten minutes later makes the metal frame rattle-he must have heard and Johnny presses the button on his one side that will hopefully release the medication that’ll knock him out before they can have a whole sympathy driven conversation. He misses flying and warmth and being able to cook grilled cheese right in his hands but mostly he misses not having people look at him like a wounded animal.

 

“I’m fine,” he says before Ben can get a word out.

 

“You a mind reader now?”

 

“No…”

 

“Look, Matchstick, we know ya cared about that son of a…”

 

“Yeah, _cared_. Past tense. I’m stupid but I’m not that stupid.”

 

Ben makes a noise and Johnny does not pout before telling him to shut up. “I promise ya, I won’t break all of his bones.”

 

“I don’t care if you do. I don’t care about him, okay? He’s just another jerk to me.”

 

“Alright, alright.”

 

He finally gets his meds and passes out while Ben tells a story about what he did last night after he left. Probably not very interesting anyway.

 

~~**~~

 

The next morning the news on TV breaks another round of beaten criminals and they don’t all fall into the minor league class. Daken has to have help, or at least he has everything pretty well planned out but it’s only been two days; he must be acting with someone. Laura, maybe, because they can’t get her on the phone either and she has worked with them before and might be the retribution seeking kind. Sue doesn’t think so, though, and he privately agrees; he doesn’t even know if they know the other exists and well, Laura is one of them; a good guy.

 

“Remy can’t get a hold of her either. He’s worried.”

 

“Seems like a lot of people are off the grid.” Not that he can totally blame them; things have been hectic for awhile and it isn’t only the doomsday obsessed weirdos downtown who have noticed, either.

 

“People are scared, Johnny, something big is coming.”

 

Yeah and he can hang out on the sidelines cheering them on. He grins, “well until frogs start falling from the sky I think we’ll be fine, sis.”

 

“Ha ha. All I’m saying is that we might not be in a position to fight these battles.”

 

“So what, we just let him keep doing what he’s doing?”

 

“That’s not what I said. But Daken isn’t our problem; not yet anyway.”

 

“I don’t get it,” not exactly Sue’s usual to say they should just let things play out like they have been. Her mouth is set in a line and her shoulders squared but she doesn’t elaborate on what might be bothering her.

 

“He’s Logan’s son, and with Logan gone…I wouldn’t be surprised if the X-Men took it on themselves to pick him up.”

 

“He looked messed up, sis, he was missing an arm,” his eyes flick over to the pictures still sitting on the foldaway table attached to the bed. They don’t show the full extent of his new look-whoever took them didn’t get close enough in the dark to get details. He looks again, he can’t keep his eyes off them, “something’s messed up, and Storm’s been different. I don’t like him but I don’t want him getting hurt, either.”

 

“What do you want to do? He was your friend, Johnny, and if you think he’s worth bringing in then we’ll do it, but you need to be sure.”

 

“I’m not, though. About anything.”

 

They can probably trust Storm, weird behaviour or not, and Cyclops and Wolverine hadn’t exactly been the best of friends all the time but he doesn’t expect them to stoop to straight up murder. Or maybe he _hopes_ they won’t. Daken has very little in common with a fluffy kitten after all other than the claws and tendency to bite and they can’t handle him with kid gloves. He wants to see him again though and it must be the pheromones, must be, has to be or else it’s something scarier like affection and he can’t let that happen again.

 

“Let me know by the end of the day. Judging by the places he’s hit and how he can manage to get here so quickly he’s in the area.”

 

Too bad “the area” may as well be an ocean they search for a drop of blood in.

 

~~**~~

 

“Not that I don’t appreciate the help but I don’t appreciate the help coming from uh…Wolverine’s evil kid. Show of hands, who thinks that’s weird?”

 

“You’re just mad he beat up the Scorpion before you could,” Johnny says and he can see the flat look Peter gives through his mask.

 

“One: I can beat up Mac any day of the week with my eyes closed, and two: …no, that’s it.”

 

“You guys are on first name basis now? When’s the wedding?”

 

“Right after you learn to shut up, so never.”

 

“We’re not asking you to track him, Peter, just to keep an eye out. Please,” Sue interjects before Johnny can say anything else.

 

“Anything else I should know?”

 

“He’s only got one arm now.”

 

“I gotta get out on patrol, my adoring public awaits,” he heads for the window and Johnny tries not to look too wistful about the whole thing. Pete always slowed him down when they went together anyway. Yeah.

 

“See you later, Spider-nerd.”

 

“So…original…how will my ego ever survive?” he leaps and it takes all of a couple seconds for him to be almost out of sight amongst the buildings.

 

He huffs out a sigh and regrets it immediately, “ow. Look, am I gonna be stuck here forever cause I’m goin’ crazy.”

 

“It’s been a week.”

 

“Yeah, that’s basically forever! And I was asleep for half of it.”

 

She crosses her arms over her chest, “if you’re that desperate to get out of bed you can always babysit the kids.”

 

“Uh…Suddenly…I don’t feel so good…”

 

“That’s what I thought,” she turns down the lights and it hits him like a knockout punch, “get some rest and tomorrow we’ll see about moving you back to your room.”

 

~~**~~

 

Moving hurts. A lot. But not as much as it could have and so he keeps going. Putting on pants leaves him breathless and sweaty and a t-shirt would be so much better, but he can’t lift his arms over his head without tearing his stitches open so he slowly fights his way into a button down. Somehow he hasn’t tripped any alarms yet and after shoving his feet into a pair of shoes he carefully makes his way to the elevator.

 

He leans against the rail and lets himself breathe for all that he can’t breathe as deeply as he wants to. Going out to find Daken himself definitely seemed like a better idea when he lay in bed being fed a steady stream of medication and fluids but too late to go back now.

 

Between breaths the elevator comes to a stop on the ground floor with a soft “ping” and someone gets on.

 

“You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

 

“How are you even…how?”

 

“If I told you that you would have them fix it,” Daken goes to press the button to bring them back up again and Johnny grabs his arm to stop him.

 

“No. I didn’t get all the way down here to go back,” his grip gets broken easily but Daken doesn’t try to take them back up again. He hits the door open button and makes no move to leave.

 

“Are you running away?”

 

“I was…gonna look for you.”

 

“You should be resting,” his hand abruptly finds itself into Johnny’s hair and he blinks, trying to clear his vision up from the blurred mess of sweat and exhaustion. He leans harder on the rail, and into Daken’s hand, “look at you.”

 

“I’m fine. Take me to your place?”

 

“I don’t think so.”

 

“Come on, it’ll be fun. Like…old times.”

 

“I have no plans to attempt to blow up the parts of the city, so no, not really.”

 

Johnny slowly breathes out, “please?”

 

He doesn’t exactly expect Daken to break-after all, he had tried to blow up New York even after the Four helped him out. But Ben’s words, pissed off as they had sounded, come floating back “he’s just jealous of what we got”. And so he gets less of a shock when Daken tells him okay than he might have if he believed that underneath it all his chest is an empty cavern where a heart should have been.

 

He loses a lot of time in between the Baxter building and wherever Daken has holed up but not because they went far. When Daken dumps him onto the couch he can see out the window; he can see the Baxter building from here.

 

“So. You’re here. Happy now?”

 

“Uh huh. Why’re you doin’ this?” he shivers, his jaw clenching against the chills.

 

“Why am I doing what?” Daken paces the room and Johnny notices how bare the place is through the haze. A couch, a table with a laptop, and that’s about it. Definitely not the ritzy kind of space that Daken stayed in back then; he expects to see a bunch of pictures on the wall connected with string or something, but the walls too have nothing of note on them.

 

“Beating people up.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Johnny laughs, or at least tries to laugh, “come on, dude, there’s pictures. Sue showed ‘em to me.”

 

“I see. You should go home.”

 

“You’re beating people up that we’ve fought lately.”

 

His voice is cold in a way that only Daken’s can be, “well it sounds like you’ve got it all figured out, no need to speak anymore about it.”

 

“This isn’t you.”

 

“Maybe I’ve turned over a new leaf.”

 

He shivers again, “stop, okay?”

 

“If you would just tell me who hurt you…” Daken trails off and suddenly he kneels beside the couch, “you’re in shock, I’m taking you home.”

 

“You’re such a jerk,” he must resemble a wet paper towel or something because Daken grunts from the effort of lifting him to his feet.

 

“And you’re getting fat.”

 

“Muscle weighs more than fat,” He hums and Johnny leans against him with a groan, “why’d I miss you?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“You miss me?”

 

“No,” Daken says and Johnny obviously doesn’t have much of a lie detector system in place-he’d trusted the guy the first time after all-but even he can pick up the lie in that. Daken doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to, or won’t get him something; he wouldn’t come back if he didn’t want to. Or want something.

 

“Liar. You missed me so hard.”

 

Daken doesn’t reply and before he can gather any words they stand in the lobby of the Baxter building again, “This is your last chance, Johnny.”

 

“If I said it was Deadpool would you still go after him?”

 

“I’ve fought him before, why wouldn’t I?”

 

“It wasn’t him. Why’s it matter, anyway?”

 

“Because they hurt you.”

 

Johnny leans against a wall, trying at being casual despite how it hurts. “And only you’re allowed to do that, right?”

 

Daken gets close again, his scent overwhelming the pain-his focus narrows to him and him alone. His weird sideburns scrape against Johnny’s cheek before his lips do, “exactly.”

 

“Don’t go,” his shaking hand curls in the fabric of Daken’s shirt. He should be pushing him away, but he can’t really say he has the best judgement.

 

“If you’re good I’ll visit you in a little while.”

 

“Okay,” he hears himself saying and then Daken is gone and Johnny manages to drag himself back to his room, where Sue waits.

 

Her arms are crossed over her chest but they leave it when she sees him. She helps him back to the bed and gets him comfortable before she launches into her “I’m not angry, just disappointed” spiel. Most of it gets lost, but he knows most of it by heart by now anyway. He passes out after that and dreams of fairies with Daken’s face.

 

~~**~~

 

“You are going to get yourself killed.”

 

Daken shrugs, his plans don’t involve dying but his plans rarely turn out as he intends them to, “I don’t know why you care.”

 

“You are my family.”

 

He doesn’t bristle at the word; she is his family, and the only family he has left. “I don’t plan on dying, Laura.”

She picks up a shirt, some hideous monstrosity, and Daken bats her hand away from it, “you have better taste than that.”

 

“I like it.”

 

“Ugh,” he says, but lets her unfold it anyway, “your taste is almost as bad as his.”

 

“You like him.”

 

“He can’t take care of himself, that’s the only reason I’m doing this.”

 

Laura stares at him for a moment then looks down at her choice in clothing. He trails behind her as she shops, not really looking at anything for himself but offering his opinion on her other picks. She really does have atrocious taste, but he supposes it’s endearing in its own way. He makes her drop a choker-so 2001 and not in a good way-then follows her to a bath and body store.

 

He wrinkles his nose and sees Laura do the same, the scents overwhelming to their heightened senses.

 

“I need to buy a gift,” she says as an explanation and lights on each of the sets of lotions as they pass them.

 

“Have these people ever smelled a cherryblossom?”

 

“Have you?”

 

He gives her a deadpan look, “of course I have.”

 

But then, she doesn’t know his whole history and he sets the offensively smelling pot back on the shelf, “my mother was Japanese.”

 

She nods and chooses a “mango” scented set and brings it to the counter. He doesn’t bother trying to convince the cashier to give them a discount-the pheromones would probably get lost amongst the rest of the scents anyway and he doesn’t want to put in the effort of pretending at being interested.

 

“I want a pretzel,” Laura announces and leads the way to the stand in the food court. It feels strange, doing this with her, and he can’t help but think of himself as an interloper into her life, family or not. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, but she _does_ mind when he tries to steal a chunk of her pretzel.

 

“Denying your own brother?”

 

“I like pretzels.”

 

“I can tell. Who’s the gift for?” he goes in for another strike, though, and she lets him take a piece albeit a small one. He doesn’t understand the appeal. But Laura has already established she has terrible taste.

 

“Jubilee.”

 

He hums and leans his chin on his hand.

 

“What is wrong?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

She doesn’t know what to say, he can tell, but he doesn’t need her to say anything. The silence is good enough.

 

~~**~~

 

It takes another week before he can actually make a concerted effort to sit up and not want to lie right back down. Daken hasn’t come back, but the headlines persist. Peter hasn’t got any closer to finding him either, but once he can walk around again Johnny can find him himself. At least he can use his phone, because now that he doesn’t have a steady stream of drugs keeping him knocked out he finds himself bored out of his skull. Sue glares at him every time he so much as looks like he’s going anywhere but the bathroom and the last thing he wants is another lecture so soon.

 

“What’s on yer mind?”

 

“How many girls I’m gonna call when I get out of this bed. My adoring public awaits,” he says with a flourish and Ben pretends that he’s throwing up.

 

“Gimme a break.”

 

“You can have a Kit Kat.”

 

“Think I preferred you when you were on drugs,” Ben grumbles, but he stays anyway, “Susie seem weird to ya lately?’

 

“Weird how? I mean, she seems like she’s got something on her mind but she hasn’t said anything about it to me…”

 

“Haven’t seen much of Reed, either.”

 

He nods; other than the last time they fought together he hasn’t seen him either. Definitely not out of the ordinary, Reed gets caught up for weeks sometimes, but with Sue acting weird too it makes him think. “Well, at least I’ve still got you for company.”

 

“Aw quit it, you’ll make me blush.”

 

“I didn’t say it was good company.”

 

“Ya little-“

 

Johnny laughs, “ow. So when are we going on our next romantic vacation?”

 

“I’ll see where I can pencil you in in my busy schedule, but right now I got a date.”

 

“What? You’re leaving me? Man, I can’t catch a break.”

 

“You’ll survive. I’ll send the other kids in an you can all watch cartoons,” Ben grins, proud of himself, and Johnny pouts only a little bit.

 

“Why do I put up with you again?” he moves to smack him upside the head.

 

“You love me. Relax, Matchstick, yer gonna pop your stitches.”

 

He settles back onto his mountain of pillows and awaits his death by kid’s tv shows.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh how the turn tables. Or: Daken fucks up and also tries to teach children how to manipulate people.
> 
> This chapter contains a short sex scene near the end just in case that's something you like to be warned about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have my pal andthenabanana to thank for me actually continuing work on this. And by continuing work I mean I wrote like the 6 or so sentences at the end there that I had been meaning to write forever ago. Oops. 
> 
> This is literally all I have. So who knows if I'll end up writing more but don't hold your breath because I've been working on original stuff lately tbh.

It smells like blood, he notices that immediately upon waking up. The TV is stuck on the Netflix “are you still watching” screen and the lights are off. Daken sits in the chair by his bed, lounging casually with his head tilted back. Sleeping? Johnny moves and his head lifts.

 

“Hello, Johnny.”

 

“Hey.”

 

“You’re looking better,” he says and doesn’t move from the chair. Johnny turns onto his side and notices the way Daken breathes. It just doesn’t look right.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

“You’re running around beating the crap out of bad guys. Sooner or later you’re gonna get hurt.”

 

“You sound like Laura.”

 

“You’ve been talking to her?” he remembers Sue saying she hadn’t been able to get her on the phone. Working with Daken isn’t her style; or so he thought, anyway.

 

“Of course I have been, she’s my sister.”

“Is she…helping you?”

 

“I don’t need her help,” he murmurs, sounding exhausted and Johnny doesn’t think he’s ever seen Daken be tired. It’s weird.

 

“C’mere.”

 

“I’d rather stay here.”

 

“What, you’re too good to cuddle with me? You never complained about it before.”

 

“I’ve never cuddled with you,” Daken drops his head back again.

 

“Hey.”

 

He doesn’t respond and Johnny sits up, feeling only slightly dizzy, “Daken?”

 

His feet slide on the floor, sending him flailing for a second and when he hits the lights he sees the blood. He manages an “oh man” before he gets over to him. “Daken, come on.”

 

He should be healing, he shouldn’t be bleeding out at Johnny’s bedside, he has a healing factor, doesn’t he? Or had it never come back? He can’t lift him but yelling does the job of bringing help. He doesn’t even know what he says but it doesn’t matter, Sue and Ben are in the room in a minute.

 

“He sure ain’t lookin’ great.”

 

“I woke up and he was here and he should be-he shouldn’t be,” he babbles for a minute and Ben helps him pick him up.

 

“The heck are those sideburns?”

 

He wants to laugh because really, they are ridiculous, but he wants to tell Daken that himself. He doesn’t even know why, it can’t be the pheromones that makes him act like this. Maybe it is affection and it’s scary to think that his judgement really _is_ that bad. But Daken came back. And he hasn’t killed anyone so maybe it’s not terrible, just…a little bit skewed. Daken tends to have that effect on him.

 

“I don’t know what to do.”

 

“First, we get him to a hospital. We can decide what happens next after that,” Sue manages to keep calm in a way that always makes him chill even when he won’t admit to being freaked out. That the ride is short is helpful too, and then he gets to spend the next few hours pacing and splayed out in a chair in equal measures.

 

The choices are to bring Daken in, forgive him of everything (more or less) or throw him into a jail cell with all the other people; probably a lot of them he’d beaten up. If Laura’s been talking to him then there had to have been a change; he can’t trust his own judgement, but he can trust hers. Ben will hate it and even Johnny can’t deny the guilt from the first time he let Daken into his life still crawling around in his gut. But people can change, can’t they?

 

Johnny sighs and goes to get something from the vending machine and when he gets back all eyes are on him. His stomach drops and suddenly he isn’t in the mood for chips anymore. “What?”

 

“Shouldn’t you be eating something a bit healthier considering you’re still recovering from a serious injury?” Sue asks, a doctor nodding in agreement.

 

“She’s right you know.”

 

“Seriously? It’s not like those things have spinach and fruit smoothies in them. It was either these or a chocolate bar,” he tries not to pout but probably fails miserably, “so uh. About…”

 

“Right, of course. It’s not typically my policy to speak to people who aren’t family, but he doesn’t have well, anyone listed as an emergency contact or next of kin. He’s in stable condition, but he’s lost a lot of blood, he’s lucky you got him here when you did.”

 

It sounds so cliché and yet there’d been a pretty visible trail of blood leading straight to Johnny’s room, and then the rest of it. He feels nauseous just thinking about it.

 

“Can I see him?”

 

“He won’t have much to say, but sure, there’s still a bit of time left of visiting hours I think.”

 

He’s seen Daken dying before and so seeing him lying in a hospital bed from the door shocks him only a little bit. He looks out of place there, amongst white sheets, but Johnny doubts he will be able to take him anywhere for a little while at least.

 

The room isn’t private-he’ll spring for one once it becomes a necessity (Daken waking up and complaining)- and so he treads softly across the floor like the other people still knocked out from surgery will wake up at him walking by.

 

“You’re a jerk,” he whispers, again convinced that quiet is required. He doesn’t reach out and touch him, just stands with his hands at his sides and watches him breathe. The beeping of the heart monitor is steady and it calms the nerves crackling through his body only slightly. “Like, a huge jerk. Dammit, Daken, I never wanted-“

 

He exhales a shaky breath and tries to force himself out of the negative spiral he’s gotten caught in. A lot easier when he could spend a couple of hours literally burning off excess energy. If he hadn’t gotten hurt Daken wouldn’t have gone out and picked fights, he wouldn’t be half dead in a hospital bed again. So really, it’s all Johnny’s fault this happened. If he weren’t so useless, had his powers, none of this would be happening.

 

“Hey, ya cold or somethin?” Ben asks and Johnny sniffs, nods, thankful for the excuse.

 

“Yeah, just. It’s freezing in here, guess you can’t feel it, you’re not as hot as me.”

 

Ben grabs him and pulls him into a lung compressing hug that lifts him off of his feet, “c’mon, it ain’t all bad.”

 

“No, just-can’t breathe-most of it,” He lands back down on the ground and stares at Daken. He imagines him waking up totally alone in a random hospital.

 

“Plannin’ on stayin’ the night?”

 

“Don’t know.”

 

“Well ya know how I feel about the...”

 

“I know. You’re probably right.”

 

“Can ya say that again, I wanna record it?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll come back in the morning I guess.”

 

They go and he glances once more at him-tomorrow, he’ll come back tomorrow.

 

~~**~~

 

“Don’t say I told you so.”

 

“I was not going to.”

 

He clears his throat but his voice remains raspy, “did Johnny call you?”

 

“No. Do you need water?”

 

“I need to get out of this bed.”

 

She doesn’t respond to that comment, “Jubilee liked her gift.”

 

“Laura.”

 

“She told me that many people enjoy that kind of present,” she continues, and he supposes she must be doing her best to be as annoying as possible.

 

“Yes, I’m sure. Help me.”

 

“I am helping you by not helping you. You cannot be so careless,” she scrunches up her face for a second, “please do not be so careless.”

 

“I was trying to do the right thing,” he looks away to stare at the curtain separating him from the disgusting smelling people in the room, “if he had just told me who hurt him I wouldn’t have had to go after half the city.”

 

“So you are blaming him.”

 

“I’m not saying that it _isn’t_ his fault.”

 

She looks at him silently, presumably for a lot longer than it takes for him to look back at her.

 

“ _What_?” he goes to cross his arm over his chest but it pulls at the gashes on his chest and he abandons the movement.

 

“You are. Not very good at this.”

 

“What are you talking about? I was doing something nice, it isn’t _my_ fault that he wouldn’t tell me.”

 

“Manipulating him is not the right thing, Daken.”

 

“I’m not-fine. What would _you_ say?”

 

“That it is not his fault.”

 

He sighs, “but it _is_ his fault.”

 

“He did not ask you to do what you did; it was your choice.”

 

“This is stupid. But fine.”

 

She nods, looking pleased with herself and he only slightly wants to smack the small smile off of her face. They haven’t fought in awhile; not since that first time but in true younger sibling fashion she still manages to be irritating. He assumes, anyway, the last younger sibling he had he killed. A good thing for her that they are evenly matched and he has no desire to kill her besides that. He pushes the thought from his mind because she starts moving, checking her phone.

 

“I have to go.”

 

“You’re abandoning me.”

 

Laura opens her mouth, her brows furrowing and he smells a hint of guilt on her. She had stayed with him the whole time after Sinister, “you are trying to manipulate me.”

 

“Is it working?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then it doesn’t count for anything.”

 

“I will come back tomorrow.”

 

“That’s 24 hours, Laura.”

 

“Yes.”

 

He sighs again. Staying here in this bed will drive him off the deep end; the smell alone is enough to push him halfway there. “You really expect me to stay here? I’ll just leave.”

 

“I am sorry, I have to go. I will see you tomorrow, try to sleep.”

 

He shoves his head into the uncomfortable, cheap hospital pillows and glares at her as she leaves. She waves to him and he pointedly does not wave back. She doesn’t look too broken up about it. Unlike Johnny, Laura is not a pushover; he isn’t sure he would respect her if she were.

 

Still, it takes another hour and a half for Johnny to show up. His hair has been pushed into place and he wears cologne; Daken smells drugs on him but nothing as strong as when he had been in bed.

 

“Hey,” half of Johnny’s mouth tilts up in a smile then drops like he can’t quite decide if he should be smiling or not.

 

“Hello.”

 

“Feeling crappy?”

 

“They won’t give me any good drugs because I have ‘previous issues’ with narcotics. Idiots.”

 

“Yeah, well...You did almost die.”

 

Daken rolls his eye, “what do you want?”

 

“Uh. I. Came to see how you’re doing? Thought you could use some company that isn’t drugged to their eyeballs?”

 

He grunts, no point in putting up any false pretenses when he can just blame it on terrible drugs and pain. And anyway, Johnny likes it when he plays hard to get. “Are you just going to stand there?”

 

“I dunno, am I allowed to come over?”

 

“Do you think I would ask you that if it wasn’t an invitation?”

 

Johnny shrugs without wincing, clearly having broken through to the recovery side of sustaining an injury, “I think I don’t know what you think, man.”

 

He chose a poor time to start with this attitude; Daken nearly tells him to get out but he just might. “Just get over here.”

 

“You need anything?” he asks as he makes his way over to the bed. He wears a t-shirt with the Fantastic Four logo on it under a blue hoodie, with a pair of dark wash jeans on the bottom. He can’t see his shoes, but he probably wears sneakers-at least he doesn’t wear cross chokers.

 

“I need to get out of here.”

 

“I’m not gonna help you with that.”

 

“Why not?” he sounds like a petulant child and so reigns it in, channels the energy into something else, “I would make it worth your while.”

 

Johnny _laughs_ , “I know. But seriously, dude, you gotta stay in bed for now. Doctor said you can be out in a day or so.”

 

“I see,” he packs every ounce of coldness he can into those two words and sees Johnny wilt slightly, his chin tilting down as he pointedly avoids glancing at the bandages on Daken’s chest.

 

“I didn’t want you to go out and get hurt, Daken,” he smells uncertain and, most of all, guilty under all of that cologne and hair gel. His hands have been shoved into this pockets and he doesn’t sit in the chair at the side of the bed.

 

He really _does_ think it’s his fault. How predictable. And fitting, considering it is. But Laura knows…this kind of thing better than he does. Choice, he has it now and he can choose what he says. Still, he looks at the door instead of Johnny as he says, “it isn’t your fault.”

 

“What?”

 

“I know that you’re blaming yourself. I can smell it on you underneath that cheap cologne. It isn’t your fault.”

 

“That. Uh.”

 

“If you’re expecting further platitudes adjust your expectations, Johnny,” the urge to shove him out of the way and escape into downtown Manhattan only rises the longer he talks but clearly he can’t trust his first instincts when it comes to Johnny. The idiot responds quicker than most, their first meeting had lasted a mere moment and that had been all it took for him to latch on to Daken like a baby monkey. He is terrifyingly attached to him; Daken doesn’t know whether to blame the pheromones or not.

 

“I just. I didn’t expect to hear that from you.”

 

He warms to him almost immediately after that, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and Daken doesn’t allow himself to lean closer, doesn’t allow himself the comfort that might come from it. Johnny’s knuckles brush against Daken’s sideburns and yes, he is definitely cutting them off now.

 

“I’m gonna admit, these look kinda funny on you.”

 

“Says the guy who probably still fights the urge to get frosted tips every time he’s at the barber.”

 

“Are those drugs doing anything at all for you cause I was kinda hoping you’d be a bit more…”

 

Daken wrenches his face away, “more what? Docile, like a wild animal you can tame?”

 

“What? No, dude, come on, I meant. No,” he looks genuinely upset by the idea and pointedly changes the subject, “Do you need anything? Other than getting out of here.”

 

“A book. A good one.”

 

With a purpose now given to him Johnny springs into action and promises to return “soon”, whatever that means. Daken counts exactly sixty-seven minutes before he comes back. He has a bag with what looks like more than one book and a couple of magazines.

 

Harry Potter. He brought him Harry Potter. Daken looks down at the book and then back up at Johnny, “this is a child’s book.”

 

“No, see, I got the adult cover so it’s an adult book,” he gets close, grinning and pointing at the front of the novel. It doesn’t _look_ like a child’s book, no, but he knows it is.

 

“Are you calling me a child?”

 

“You’re kinda grumpy like one. It’s a best seller so it has to be good, right?”

 

He sets the book on his left side without opening it. “Goodnight.”

 

“Alright, alright, I get it. I’ll get you something else tomorrow.”

 

His eye closes and he hears Johnny settle into the chair and the rustle of the plastic bag as he gets one of the magazines out and starts reading. “Stop reading so loudly,” he says a moment before falling asleep. He can’t tell if Johnny listens or not.

 

~~**~~

 

“Dumbledore is just raising him like a lamb for slaughter,” Daken tells him the moment he walks in the door of his now private room.

 

“What?”

 

“It’s obvious. He left him, abandoned him with those people, only to retrieve him when he knew that he would be useful. Voldemort is still alive. Harry is going to die.”

 

Johnny opens his mouth then closes it then answers, “Jeez, dude. I don’t know, maybe he just wanted to keep him safe?”

 

He flops into the chair after moving the bag of books to the ground and Daken rolls his eye.

 

“So he left him with people who hated him, didn’t contact him for years. And then when he needs him, all of a sudden he swoops in.”

 

“That does sound kinda bad…”

 

“It was a stupid book,” he scoffs and gingerly tosses it at Johnny who barely manages to catch it before it whacks him right in the stomach.

 

“Yeah. So after here. Are you gonna stay with Laura?”

 

“Why would I?”

 

“Uh. Cause you’re hurt?” he knows he probably has a look on his face that says ‘uh, duh’ and Daken shifts. His chest is all white with bandage and gauze and Johnny finds his eyes drawn to his arm, or lack thereof, again.

 

“I’ll be fine. The nurse already showed me how to take care of it.”

 

“Yeah, but-“

 

“The eye was worse,” he says and Johnny quickly looks at the ground, embarrassed to be caught staring so blatantly. It’s not like him, but he has so many questions Daken probably won’t answer that his eyes keep getting drawn to the older wounds.

 

“Sorry.”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

“You can stay with us. I mean, me. Ben doesn’t wanna look at you, but he said he’d just close his eyes every time you were around or something,” he grins, and Daken sighs like he just told him that he could live in a cupboard under the stairs.

 

“Why would I want to stay with you?”

 

“Cause you came back, beat a lot of people up, and got hurt cause of me so you either want something or you couldn’t stand another minute away from this beautiful face,” he leans forward to rest his chin in his hands on the edge of the bed. He might as well be batting his eyelashes and Daken stares at him.

 

“Maybe I do just want something from you.”

 

“Laura trusts you so I do.”

 

“Laura is my family, and she could kill me if she wanted to. You can barely bring yourself to tell me I’m an asshole,” he says and he has a point. Maybe he can’t trust him, but it’s either that or Johnny hands him over to the authorities and that feels worse than believing in him.

 

“You’re an asshole.”

 

“I don’t need someone who will let me get away with murder, Johnny. And you will.”

 

“I’m not the same guy I was, Daken. I don’t wanna hold it over your head, but seriously? I’m the only thing standing between you and jail right now.”

 

The revelation makes him want a shower to wash the feeling of grossness off of him; telling him that hadn’t been part of the plan. It feels too much like a powerplay, like something Kingpin would do and yet not telling him would be worse. But Daken smiles like he’s pleased.

 

“How shrewd. Maybe you have changed after all,” he shifts, wincing slightly, “all right. I’ll stay with you.”

 

“I didn’t tell you to hold it against you. I just want everything out in the open, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Daken sounds agreeable enough, like just maybe he believes what Johnny says.

 

Johnny gathers himself up and stands, “I gotta go, but I’ll come pick you up tomorrow.”

 

“I can hardly wait,” he says, his voice flat and he remembers the feeling of being bed bound all too well. It sucks, but clearly Daken isn’t healing at the speed of light anymore so he doesn’t have much of a choice other than staying put.

 

~~**~~

 

Healing factor or not, Daken heals fast; the wounds not nearly as deadly as Johnny’s could have been. After a day of lounging in bed he gets up and breaks the “don’t bother Ben” rule almost immediately. Johnny would wonder when he got such a weird life but the answer’s an easy one and besides, even if he can get up and walk around Daken doesn’t cause too much trouble otherwise. The kids keep an eye on him in their own way and he appears content to sit stretched out on the couch reading Harry Potter for the time being.

 

“I’m going out so be good, okay?”

 

He looks up over the _Order of the Phoenix_ , his blue eye focused on Johnny, “ _yes dear_.”

 

“Ha. Ha.”

 

“Bring me something from Starbucks,” he calls out when Johnny reaches the door.

 

“I’m not even,” he walks about two steps then stops, sighs and turns, “okay what do you want?”

 

“Pike Place brew. Venti. Two _soy_ milk, no sugar, with one pump of caramel syrup. And if they have biscotti any of them unless all they have is cranberry.”

 

“I. Okay you know what just come with me.”

 

“I don’t have anything to wear,” he doesn’t look up from his book this time and Johnny walks to his room and pulls out the first pair of jeans and a shirt that will fit him.

 

“Here, come on.”

 

“Alright.”

 

He really doesn’t have much in the way of clothing that doesn’t have holes in it (or, bizarrely, doesn’t have the arms ripped off of it) and so he has been wearing the same pair of jeans that they brought him into the hospital with.

 

“You’ve lost weight,” Daken announces as he pulls on Johnny’s jeans. They aren’t tight on him, though, and so clearly he’s lost weight right along with him.

 

“Yeah, well.”

 

“What?” he pauses and lets the pants hang, half done up. Even covered up with bandages he manages to look appealing and Johnny looks away so his eyes won’t follow the line of his tattoo.

 

“Nothing. Seriously, hurry up before the kids find out we’re going to Starbucks and I have to get them something too.”

 

“Help me with the shirt.”

 

He tries not to get too close, to keep it platonic for all that things have always been just a tiny bit more than platonic with Daken but clearly Daken has other ideas. He takes an extra step so that if Johnny moves just half an inch more their noses will be touching. His tongue slides over his lips and Johnny can’t help but stare at his mouth, Johnny’s teeth catching his own lip between them. He feels the warmth of Daken’s body radiating off of him and tilts his head, closing the distance between them with the smallest of movements.

 

The feeling of his lips on his opens the floodgates and then he’s grabbing his hips and he hears Daken groan right along with him.

 

“Ew, uncle Johnny!” Franklin cries out and they spring apart so fast he sees Daken grimace.

 

“What? Huh? What’s gross?” he holds out his hands like he doesn’t understand what he’s talking about.

 

“You guys were _kissing_ , uncle Johnny,” Valeria explains as though he really doesn’t get it. He can’t imagine where she gets _that_ habit from. Reed. She’s a mini Reed and it’s weird but cute.

 

“Oh, that? Don’t tell your mom, okay?”

 

“Shame already?” Daken sounds playful-apparently it’s pick on Johnny day-and pulls his borrowed shirt over his head unassisted.

 

“You guys are the worst. Come on…we’re going to Starbucks.”

 

“Awesome!” At least Franklin is easy to please.

 

“But you guys are getting a small. I learned my lesson.”

 

Valeria is silent for a moment then turns to Franklin, whispers something to him and Johnny can just see the evil genius in both of them in that moment. The two of them together is a perfect storm. He tries not to laugh out loud at the thought-technically they’re Richards’ but still.

 

“If we can get a large then we won’t tell mom you were kissing,” she says and Daken grins.

 

“A budding extortionist, how cute.”

 

“Don’t encourage them, dude. You can get a _medium_ and _I_ won’t tell Sue that you guys are trying to blackmail me.”

 

“It’s a deal,” Valeria agrees and it hits him that he probably fell right into her trap.

 

They pile into a cab-he doesn’t feel like driving and a fantasticar kind of makes them a target for paparazzi. Either way, it takes only a few minutes to get to a Starbucks but he doesn’t ask the taxi to stick around.

 

“I can’t see the board, uncle Johnny,” Valeria informs him and he picks her up despite the indignity of it all for her.

 

“I can’t either, Johnny,” Daken pouts at him and he rolls his eyes.

 

“Come on, dude, seriously?”

 

He laughs and Johnny punches him lightly on the shoulder with his free hand, “you’re a jerk.”

 

“Uncle Johnny, _I_ can’t either.”

 

“Okay, okay, I’ve been slacking off with my lifting routine anyway.”

 

He hasn’t. And Franklin doesn’t exactly weigh nothing, but he manages to lift him one handed anyway; it’s moments like this that slap him in the face with how many years have passed. One day the kids won’t be kids anymore-will he still be powerless when they reach their teens?

 

Daken stares him, “you know they almost look like your children when you have them so close to you.”

 

“Ew, I don’t want to be uncle Johnny’s children,” Franklin protests, his face screwed up into an expression that adequately demonstrates his disgust at the idea.

 

“Child,” Daken corrects immediately, like it’s a lesson he’s heard about a million times too. Maybe he has; Johnny knows almost nothing about his life before the whole Dark Avengers thing.

 

“Whatever,” he grumbles, and that he definitely gets from Johnny. Oops.

 

“Come on, guys, what do you want? My arms are gonna fall off, you know.”

 

They mercifully decide that they want something not caffeinated-those Refresher things hopefully don’t have a ton of sugar but Johnny doesn’t plan on sticking around long once they start drinking them so that definitely qualifies as not his problem.

 

Superhearing isn’t one of his powers but he hears the click of a phone camera coming from somewhere in the shop anyway and snaps his head around. All he needs is someone posting pics of him and Daken on Instagram with #otp or something. Not like it hasn’t happened before with literally every guy he’s friends with but the idea of someone looking in on his and Daken’s not-relationship has him thinking of about ten ways he could smash a cellphone in under thirty seconds. He sees the culprits and flashes a smile-he needs bad publicity even less than a harmless picture of him standing in line with a friend, better to just brush it off.

 

“Just sayin’, you might be famous on the internet for a couple days.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“I’m pretty sure those girls over there were taking pictures of us and uh, people have a really active imagination about my love life,” he lets the kids down so that they can grab their orders and rattles off his usual as well as Daken’s.

 

“I could do worse,” he steps a little bit closer, “besides, are they wrong?”

 

“I’m-uh. I’m not having this conversation in a Starbucks.”

 

Daken doesn’t move away, though, and he looks different now so it’s probably fine, no one is going to trace him back to the guy who tried to blow up the Baxter building, right?

 

\--

 

Johnny pointedly ignores the conversation they should have by leaving Daken with the kids and going to out to see a friend. He can’t help but admire his dedication to denial, though, and so he takes up his spot on the couch again.

 

“What are you reading?”

 

The older one, Franklin, hovers like a hummingbird on a sugar-high and Daken takes a sip of his own drink before holding up the cover.

 

“Isn’t that a kid’s book?”

 

“That’s what I told your uncle, but he said that he got the adult covers which makes them adult books.”

 

“That sounds like a lie.”

 

Daken shrugs, “have you read them?”

 

“No way, Harry Potter is for nerds. I like Spider-Man.”

 

“Well excuse me, I didn’t realize I was in the presence of such a cool guy.”

 

“You talk really weird,” the child informs him and Daken smiles.

 

“Thank you.”

 

That throws him off and Daken goes back to his book. He has almost finished this one and knows that Snape will likely die at some point-the plot points are so obvious-but continues anyway.

 

The boy flops on the couch with his drink-he can’t imagine why, perhaps Johnny told him to keep an eye on Daken, but doesn’t ask him.

 

“I apologize for you having to see your uncle and me in such a compromising position earlier,” he says after awhile of silence.

 

“We only made a big deal about it cause we knew we’d get Starbucks.”

 

“I know, but I wanted to apologize anyway.”

 

He doesn’t tell him of course his motive for doing so. He doubts Sue Richards will be so amendable to being plied with coffee drinks and he needs her at least on his side because Ben and Reed will not be so easy. Better to have allies in the Fantastic Four than enemies; they are the pillars of the superhero community after all.

 

Franklin shrugs, but Daken smells the difference in the air, “how come you changed your hair?”

 

“My father died, I wanted to honour him.”

 

“How’d he die?”

 

“It’s not appropriate for children.”

 

“What happened to your arm?”

 

“Do you always ask so many questions, Franklin?” he asks instead and he slouches in his seat. Ah, the crux of the problem may reveal itself yet.

 

“Dad always says you should ask questions.”

 

The girl, Valeria, clearly takes after her father in the intelligence department and so here sits the cast-off child, if such a person can exist in this family. Daken knows the feeling, being second best. “He’s right. But more importantly, you should ask the correct questions.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You rarely get what you want just by asking; you know that as well as I do. You need to build a rapport with the person. Make them trust you, as though what you ask is simply a question from a concerned friend,” he sits up, swings his feet over so they reach the floor abandoning the book on the couch, “but I think that your mother won’t appreciate me telling you this.”

 

“I’m not a little kid, you know.”

 

“Johnny, I,” Sue Richards stops once she gets far enough into the room that she notices her brother isn’t in it. Her eyes move from Daken to Franklin to the drink on the table and her son’s hand, “let me guess, those are hush money drinks.”

 

“Uncle Johnny was just really generous,” Franklin says and then, after a look from his mother, “him and Daken were kissing.”

 

If he felt shame he might have felt it here under Sue Richards’ stare; not judging, but he can see the gears turning in her head. She smiles at Franklin, “thank you for being honest. I need to talk to Daken alone, alright?”

 

“Kay, are you gonna help me with my homework later? It’s a book report and it’s really hard.”

 

“Of course,” Daken feels the love radiating off of her and his hand clenches into a fist the traitor child runs off to his room leaving him alone with her, “how are you feeling?”

 

She wants to ask something else but he admires her commitment to pretending to care about his wellbeing. Acting is more difficult than people give credit for; he would know. He sits up straighter in his seat, this situation requires a focused approach.

 

“Alright. Nothing I haven’t lived through before, thank you,” he doesn’t make an effort to look more pathetic than he feels but she walks over anyway.

 

She stands in front of him for a moment and then points to her forehead, “do you mind if I check if you have a fever?”

 

“Not going to shove a thermometer in my mouth? I prefer this already,” he allows her slightly cool hand on his forehead, “not that those are the worst thing I’ve had in my mouth.”

 

“No wonder you and Johnny get along so well, I haven’t heard such a terrible joke since he was fifteen,” she holds her position for a moment, half of one really, then pulls away, “you’re a little bit warm. Can I check your stitches?”

 

“You don’t have to ask every time, I know that you’re just trying to get me to take my shirt off.”

 

“I am a married woman. And I do.”

 

He wonders what she sees when she looks down at him. A monster in sheep’s clothing? Or a burden temporarily foisted upon her? Or perhaps something more pathetic? He doesn’t ask and she looks away while he pulls his borrowed shirt off.

 

“Are you going to ask what you really want to?”

 

She pulls away the bandages-no fancy Fantastimedicine for him, just regular medical grade provided by the hospital-and frowns slightly, “have you been taking your medicine?”

 

“Most of the time,” he says. She sighs in a decidedly motherly way and he takes a breath that he exhales as a laugh, “is it really that important?”

 

“You’re being a terrible patient.”

“Going to punish me?”

 

“Daken, Johnny might be willing to put up with your jokes but I’m not. Enough. And that goes for kissing in the living room, too.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he nearly means it.

 

“I can’t stop you and Johnny from …well, doing whatever you plan on doing. But the rule with everyone is his room only. This is our home, and that includes our children’s.”

 

“And here I was expecting the ‘if you hurt him I’ll kill you’ speech,” he smiles and she pulls the rest of the bandages away.

 

“Johnny is an adult and can make his own decisions. I’m not going to say that I trust you entirely yet. But you’re welcome to continue to stay here as long as you need to.”

 

“I’m not as pathetic as you think I am,” it comes out more bitter than he intends but he doesn’t try to cut it with something sweeter.

 

“I don’t think you’re pathetic; I act this way towards every wounded person who comes through here,” she reaches for the bandages in the storage unit under the coffee table. He believes her. She doesn’t smell like a liar, and these people are different, untouchable heroes he can’t possibly reach the heights of. And before that might have kept him from trying; even now he can’t say that he wants to.

 

“You don’t have to do that,” he grabs her wrist when she starts to go for the ointment he has until now applied himself. His heart beats quickly in his chest, this scene a familiar and painful in a way that makes him tighten his grip, “I can do it.”

 

“Sure. Johnny didn’t…say where he was going?” she pulls her hand back and he lets her go quickly.

 

“Wyatt’s place he said,” he slathers the medicinal smelling paste on his chest, not looking at her.

 

“Can I help you with the next part or would you prefer to do it yourself?”

 

“How could I deny you the opportunity to help?”

 

 _She_ had never helped with bandages; he hadn’t needed them back then. She always had a kind word, a disgusting smelling medicine for the wounds that would be gone by morning, preparing him before his then-father came to speak with him. It continued until she had nothing good to say, until he was the toxin poisoning the air in their home. And after that there were no more kind words and no more medicine; Romulus knew he would heal, and care became less important unless required to keep Daken pliable. He had been only too willing to ignore wounds that stung, that ached and itched though, so long as Romulus gave him a half-second glance he took to mean as pride.

He knows now that is had been merely envy. He breathes out and pushes the feeling away-he might be more experienced now but not even he knows the pheromones’ power in its entirety and he doesn’t need Sue Richards becoming privy to his innermost emotions.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“Yes,” he lies and she doesn’t call him on it, but does pat him on the shoulder when she finishes wrapping him up.

 

“You’re done. Take your medicine or I’ll call Laura.”

 

It sounds like a threat and he supposes she means it to be, but Laura’s replies to texts have been slow and short. She clearly has something important occupying her time-or perhaps someone-so he doubts she will jump at the chance to guilt her brother into taking his medicine.

 

“Alright.”

\--

 

Daken sleeps on the couch, drink and book both forgotten on the table when Johnny makes it back from his “flying” lesson. He spares him a glance but doesn’t get any closer before heading for his room.

 

The bed sinks only a little bit when he sits, his elbows on his knees and his palms facing the ceiling.

 

“Flame on,” he whispers to them and his heart leaps even now at the idea that just maybe they’ll burst into flame and colour like they used to.

 

But they don’t. He hunches, shivering from the unfamiliar coldness of the air conditioning, “dammit…”

 

He tells himself that he felt a tingle like old nerve endings starting to wake up again but he knows a lie when he sees one even if it comes from himself. If he had the choice would he have made the decision to live at the expense of his powers? Or did he make it without thinking; a split second decision of “I want to live” rather than die but part of him has died anyway, hasn’t it?

 

Wyatt and Peter won’t say anything about it that isn’t optimistic and he can’t decide which is better-everyone including himself lying to him or the cold, burnt out truth. Johnny Storm: The Human; end of sentence.

 

“Someone break up with you?” Daken asks. He leans against the doorjamb-he hadn’t even heard him open the door.

 

“Something like that. You ever hear of knocking?”

 

“Not when the door stands between something that I want.”

 

He straightens up and luckily there are no tears to wipe away this time to mess up the smirk he throws on, “oh yeah? Is it my clothes? Cause you know you just gotta ask.”

 

“It is your clothes,” Daken’s voice is low but not quiet, he’s heard this before and his spine tingles at the memory of hands there. He approaches slowly like a tiger stalking its prey and Johnny shifts on the bed, not sure if he wants to be it or not.

 

He stands in front of him and his hand curls in the fabric of Johnny’s t-shirt, “I want them off.”

 

“Oh yeah? And why would I do that?” he lightly rests his hand on top of Daken’s as though he actually plans on stopping him and looks up at him, tilting his head to the side just slightly.

 

Daken leans closer, shifting his weight enough that Johnny if he wanted to he could push him away easily but he doesn’t. He lets himself be eased back onto his elbows, his hand moving from the top of Daken’s to the bed. Daken takes a breath, biting his lip, “because I can smell how much you want me.”

 

“What’s it smell like?” he asks and chokes on his breath when Daken moves his hand from his shirt to his groin. His hips press upwards and hey, it’s not like he ever denied wanting him.

 

“Good,” he climbs onto the bed, his hand leaving Johnny for a second as he does so and then he’s close, as close as earlier, “do you know how hard it is to ignore that?”

 

“I dunno, how hard is it?”      

 

“Shut up,” he growls and his hand grips his crotch tightly like a punishment and Johnny can’t decide if the sound he makes he means to be a ‘oh god ow please stop’ or ‘oh god ow please keep going’. Daken kisses him a second later, his mouth hot and demanding enough that Johnny doesn’t keep wondering about much for long.

 

He wraps one of his hands around the back of Daken’s neck and he doesn’t need to smell anything to feel him pressing into the touch. He pushes his fingers through the short hair at the base of his neck and upwards to the longer part. He twists his hair into his fist and Daken groans. His hand releases Johnny and goes for the button of his jeans as he pulls away just slightly.

 

“I believe I remember saying I wanted your clothes off.”

 

“You need help with the-“ he lets Daken’s hair go and squirms, fumbling for his pants while Daken twists away, pushing himself upright again.

 

“No. I want you to do it because I asked you to.”

 

He can’t exactly argue with him when he’s kneeling over him like that and he doesn’t _want_ to either. “Sir yes sir.”

 

“Just Daken is fine.”

 

“So it’s like that, huh?”

 

“Just making sure we’re on the same page, Johnny. Take off your pants.”

 

He has to lie down to manage it properly and it’s not like he’s embarrassed, but he is wearing his flame print boxers today and Daken raises an eyebrow.

 

“How tacky.”

 

“Says the guy who ripped the arms off of like all of his shirts,” Johnny grins and Daken smiles back.

 

“Better than one hanging there empty.”

 

“Daken, hey-“ he tries to sit up and Daken shoves him back down roughly enough that he bounces slightly.

 

“You’re still wearing clothes, you know. I’m getting impatient.”

 

And he gets it all at once. This is a distraction from something. That’s why he came in so quickly after Johnny got back, that’s why he’s laying it on so thick. But he can use a distraction; and no one has ever accused him of being nuanced in his techniques to get people into bed.

 

“Okay, okay, I’m going.”

 

He doesn’t know what he expects Daken to say or see when he takes off his shirt-it’s not like that time on the table when he woke up to being knitted back together like a stuffed animal with its insides coming out. He looks well, normal, or normal-ish and Daken doesn’t say anything but “good”.

 

“Thanks, I was lying before, I really have been keeping up with my lifting. Not just the glamour muscles, either,” he doesn’t flex, but only because he’s still mostly lying down.  

 

“How diligent of you,” his hand slides down his chest from collarbone to the top of his boxers.

 

“That’s me. Johnny Storm: Personification of Diligence.”

 

“Mm,” Daken pulls his underwear down, looking at his cock and then back to Johnny’s face, “well, that hasn’t changed.”

 

“Yeah, sorry, it’s still huge.”

 

“I think you’ll recall that I never complained.”

 

 

“I had a girl tell me once that it was too big so just sayin’.”

 

“Yes, well, that girl isn’t me,” Daken has never been especially great at foreplay with him but then Johnny isn’t going to look a gift distraction in the mouth. And he doesn’t have much time to think of what he might have done differently because then Daken has his hand on his dick.

 

He shoves his hips forward and Daken doesn’t tell him not to, he just adjusts his grip and lets Johnny writhe for a second.

 

“Someone is awfully eager.”

 

“You’re the one who came into my room saying how bad you wanted me,” Johnny relaxes though and maybe it’s the pheromones that makes him so responsive to him but he can’t tell the difference between himself with Daken not using them and himself with him using them. It doesn’t really matter; it isn’t like he doesn’t want any of this.

 

“You started it. Every time you came into the room and saw me it was like being punched in the face.”

 

“You’re exaggerating.”

 

Daken laughs and moves his hand slowly, “no I’m not. And I think you know it.”

 

“I can’t help it. You’re hot and I like hot people.”

 

“It’s very frustrating,” he lets go and clearly the guy came prepared because he slides a handful of packets of lube from the back pocket of Johnny’s jeans, “so frustrating I came in here earlier to prepare.”

 

“Did you jerk off in my bed?” he can’t decide if the image is attractive-Daken splayed out on Johnny’s bed with his hand on his cock and what was the other feeling he could feel right now again?

 

“No.”

 

“Then…” he watches Daken tear the package open with his teeth and pour some into his hand. When he wraps his fingers around Johnny’s dick again they slide easier and he grits his teeth against the sounds waiting at the back of his throat. He doesn’t take long to get hard and Daken wipes his hand on Johnny’s boxers before undoing his pants. He isn’t wearing flame print boxers. He isn’t wearing anything under them at all and he wonders where the heck the underwear from earlier went until he thinks about it and, “oh. Oh.”

 

“Yes. Oh.”

 

“You’re hurt you should be-“

 

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

 

“Daken, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

 

“You can’t hurt me,” he says and plants his hand on Johnny’s chest, moving himself so that one leg is on either side of Johnny’s torso, “now shut up.”

 

“You’re so,” he wonders if Daken can smell how aroused he is even without looking at him. He moans quietly at the thought.

 

“I’m so what?” he lowers himself onto Johnny’s cock and lets out a breath, “I’m so what, Johnny?”

 

He can’t manage an answer and Daken smiles triumphantly above him, his hips and legs moving as he fucks himself like Johnny exists just to be his own personal sex toy or something. The idea shouldn’t be hot but it is and he grabs his hips and digs his fingernails in, seeing Daken’s head tilt back. He makes short, quiet noises like Johnny is shoving them out his chest and Johnny wants to tell him he needs to be quieter-the bed doesn’t creak but there’s no mistaking the sound of flesh on flesh-but he can’t bring himself to. Not when pleasure shoots up and across his body like electricity. It’s been awhile, and masturbation isn’t the same as having a partner-he hears himself start to say Daken’s name and then it gets cut off by a too-loud noise as he cums and his grip on his hips falters.

 

“Crap,” he whispers and Daken doesn’t slump beside him after pulling off, “c’mere.”

 

Johnny doesn’t expect him to say “it’s fine” because even before Daken had been insistent but if he can help it he doesn’t like to leave things well, unfinished. “Dude, no, it’s not fine. C’mere.”

 

“I should go.”

 

“Why?”

 

He doesn’t say anything and Johnny sits up, “what’s up?”

 

“We aren’t lovers. I got what I wanted, you got what you wanted, it’s done.”

 

“I wanna give you an orgasm though so I haven’t got what I wanted.”

 

“Why are you being so difficult?”

 

“Why are you? Look, if you don’t want me touching you that’s cool, but I want to so don’t think you gotta run as soon as I get off,” he reaches out and Daken doesn’t move away. He touches his waist and pulls only slightly, “come on, you’re not gonna deny me a little bit of cuddling too, are you?”

 

“I don’t cuddle,” he mutters but allows himself to be pulled down to the bed so that they face each other, the remains of Daken’s left arm beneath his body instead of his right.  

 

“Lying beside each other in the same bed not touching? Does it hurt like this?”

 

“I suppose. And no. I rarely feel anything in that…part.”

 

“Awesome. Let me know if you gotta move.”

 

His hand finds Daken’s still hard cock and there’s about half a package of lube left but it does the job. His other hand he manoeuvers under Daken’s body and pulls him close enough that he can kiss him if he wants to.

 

He jerks him off, single minded in his mission until Daken’s arm wraps up and around his waist, his hand resting between his shoulder blades. His fingernails drag down Johnny’s back and he knows that he will leave more marks to be explained away but nowhere near as bad as the bite mark. This feels different than then-still heated but something more than just a distraction, too. But he’s been wrong about Daken before. He can’t let himself get too deep into feelings without knowing if there’s anything in there at all in Daken’s heart for him.

 

“You still okay?”

 

Daken’s response is a short moan and, “shut up and go harder.”

 

Johnny laughs and does what he says, watching as his face twists with pleasure and feeling him start thrusting his hips in time with Johnny’s hand. A second later he tenses, mouth slightly open as cums and then he’s just breathing, his hand no longer clawing at Johnny’s flesh.

 

“If you could see you then you’d know why I get turned on every time you walk into a room.”

 

“Stop talking.”

 

“You should-oh man, you’re bleeding.”

 

“It’s fine,” he looks down at his shirt, “it was starting to scab over.”

 

“Let me take a look?”

 

He pulls off his shirt revealing the bandage now soaked red with his blood. He glances down, frowning, “how irritating.”

 

“You seriously didn’t think anything would happen? Come on, bathroom.”

 

“Going to play nurse?”

 

“…In a minute, yeah.”

 

He pushes himself up to his knees, “just stay there.”

 

Johnny can’t really muster up an argument to that-he flings his arm over his eyes and stays stretched out while Daken heads to the bathroom. Tomorrow morning will be fun; they probably should have gone to Daken’s place but well, he usually can’t think totally clearly with him. He hears the shower going and humming; he can’t place the tune but maybe Daken’s just really tone deaf. Somehow he doubts that but it’s nice to hear anyway, unhappy people don’t hum in the shower and he can’t deny that he hopes he’s the reason for it.

 

“I’m going to my place,” Daken says when he returns wearing only a towel around his waist.

 

“You can sleep in here, y’know.”

 

“Tempting, but no.”

 

“What, did you leave the stove on or something?” he grins and hopes that covers up the tiny, miniscule part of him that wants to beg him to stay. Somehow he thinks Daken isn’t a fan of begging outside of the bedroom. Not that Johnny would know or anything.

 

“You are awfully nosy today,” Daken picks out a new pair of jeans for himself and roots through Johnny’s closet for a few moments, his movements careful either because he respects Johnny’s stuff or because he still hurts. Finally he pulls his only purple shirt off of a hanger, “did you wash this?”

 

“Uh…Maybe?”

 

“It smells like you.”

 

He opens his mouth to ask if he means that as an insult or compliment but gets his answer in the form of Daken pulling it on. “You should probably rewrap yourself up or something.”

 

“Do it for me then.”

 

“I. uh. Okay.”

 

He stands still while Johnny wraps the bandages around him, staring out the window like he can think of nothing more boring than this exact moment. He wonders if Daken got the distraction he looked for; if he will exit stage right and never come back again. He shoves the idea away and pats him on the side.

 

“You’re done.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

The shirt gets slipped back on and carefully tucked in to his borrowed jeans. When he reaches the last button he looks up at Johnny. “What?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

He doesn’t say anything and Johnny resists trying to incite another conversation. But he does walk him to the door after pulling on a pair of pants himself and tries his best not to hover too obviously. He shoves his hands in his pockets to keep them from doing anything stupid like grabbing Daken and holding him back from the elevator.

 

“I’ll see you later,” Daken stands at the back of the elevator, mirroring Johnny’s pose.

 

“Yeah, see ya.”

 

Daken smiles and then the doors slide close and he’s gone. Johnny goes back to his room and picks up his phone; he can really use another distraction.

 

\--

 

The door to his apartment opens with the loud click of the lock and he steps into the mostly dark space. Light from the buildings and streetlights splashes across the floor of the living room where his laptop still sits open as though waiting for his return.

 

It isn’t the only thing waiting.

 

“Hello Lester,” he says, shutting the door and locking it behind him, “been waiting long?”

**Author's Note:**

> There's more to this. As in 13 more pages and about 3-4000 more words. Honestly, it's gotten away from me and I don't know if I'm going to ever finish it completely but what else is new, amirite?
> 
> I'm not really super confident about this one to be honest! But I figured I'd post it anyway because I've spent far too much time on it to just throw it away.


End file.
